


I'm Sorry, Sensei, But I Want Your Gun

by Deuterosis



Category: World Trigger (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Horny Teenagers, No Underage Sex, Pining, hot for teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deuterosis/pseuds/Deuterosis
Summary: Obishima has grown a crush on her captain and it's becoming a problem.
Relationships: Obishima Yukari & Yuba Takuma
Kudos: 1





	I'm Sorry, Sensei, But I Want Your Gun

**Author's Note:**

> I like the relationship Yuba and Obishima have in canon, which doesn't seem to contain any of _this_. But a prompt is a prompt, and it was a great excuse to express my wanting for Yuba by putting it into Obishima's mouth. Yay for using characters as mild stand-ins for yourself!
> 
> Only thing is I hope I got the tags right.

It's been too long of a time that I keep hesitating before I join him in our strategy room. He's a punctual man, and I used to be more than punctual enough. Now I have to steady myself:

I never know what I'm going to see when I first step in and look upon him, but it's never a surprise. It's always some type of unreasonably-suggestive uniform, has been for a while. A biker this time, I guess? Vest over nothing, studded choker, and blue jeans tailor-made to clutch the silhouette of his legs.

That's not what he's _actually_ wearing, of course. It's just our Squad uniform. But my mind turns the jacket of it sleeveless and black with too much ease.

“Obishima. You're on time today.”

“Y-yeah. Sorry....”

“Well, keep it up and you won't have to be sorry.”

Moving on my fresh new instincts I find my way into a chair, right near where he stands chairless by choice. He's trying to tell me our next Rank War opponents had been decided, but my mind can't, or refuses to, hold onto any of the names.

_Don't look at his crotch don't look at his crotch his eyes are up _here!__

“I'm sorry, but could you repeat that?”

“C'mon, Obishima. You're better than this.”

Today we planned to be working on my Shooting form. I'll show Yuba how I've adapted to my competition in solo Rank Wars, and he'll tell me what I still need to work on, what openings I make on myself and might miss on others. The goal is, I'll be as fast and accurate as Yuba is someday. We hope.

For now I'm just shooting targets. Yuba's resting to the left of my targets, and I'm ready to tell myself I'm not doing so badly, being able to strike them consistently even though he's crowding them near out of my mind just by sitting there. Since he won't have a chair of his own in our strategy room until we make A-Rank, it's only in the training room I get to see his legs at rest, one crossed over the other, while no one else is around. Only half-focused at best on my next volley, my brain decided to turn his outfit into a swimsuit, and the next thing I knew, the Asteroids were zipping towards Yuba.

He's got plenty of room to dodge them, and does, and it doesn't matter in a training room anyway, but that's not the problem. The last thing we need is friendly fire on Defense Duty or in a Rank War, and how could I possibly explain this to him?

“Obishima... I'm _hoping_ that was on purpose.”

I can't even meet his eyes. Partly because of shame, but mostly because if I did, I would shudder like an ice diver. His glare is twice as intense as he already is. 

Nothing moves until I hear the sigh press out of his chest, like he doesn't even know what to do with me and it's making him tired.

“Do you need to eat something?”

“Yes.” I didn't forget breakfast, but it couldn't hurt -- plus, it was an excuse to sit right next to him in the cafeteria.

Like many squads, we're a sort of family, but the way Yuba looks after his family and friends, of course, can be businesslike.

“Be honest with me. You having problems at school?”

“No.”

“Is somebody hassling you?”

“No.” I'd suggest it could be puberty, but that would tip my hand.

His leg is almost right next to mine, just about thirty centimeters away. I could reach out and touch him... I could reach out and--

“Obi!” His fingers snapped right in front of my nose, the fingers on his big hands.

“Sorry!”

I almost scramble backward as he suddenly brings his face next to mine, as if he's searching my eyes. Just like I expected, the icy look behind his glasses rings me like a bell.

He asks “You're not getting into drugs, are you?”

“Nope!” _Unless you count you!_

* * *

What is wrong with me? It wasn't like this when I joined the squad. It _so_ wasn't like this that I had a crush on somebody else.

Back then it was for Kanda. Back then it was also way more mild of a burn, much like the difference between him and Yuba. I remember it was more of little-kid's crush. A giggly crush, a just-love-to-be-near-him crush, a like-his-smile crush. I was in over his personality and his smile, and that was a lot easier to deal with.

I wouldn't have dreamed I'd feel _this_ way for Yuba; I thought my type was more like Kanda. Plus my relationship with our captain was much different -- I really wouldn't call it cold, but if you haven't gathered it, he's a strict, no-nonsense kind of guy.

But there was no accounting for the puberty that, aside from this and something monthly, hasn't shown up in me yet. It started hitting _after_ Kanda left to pursue his degree, and how do I know?

It was the first Rank War of the season, our first prompt to find our feet without him, and otherwise it was a normal thing. The sharp, unforgiving edges of Upper-B tearing at us, and Yuba and me doing our best to tear back with Tonooka and Nono backing us up. So completely normal.

Then Yuba took out our quarry, and when he did, I noticed some things. I noticed how _long_ his revolvers are, and how fast he is with such accurate shots; I noticed how tall he is, and his legs, and how his demeanor is the coldest-burning fire; even though all these things had always been there, suddenly they struck me from an angle I never expected.

Then I blew up. Literally.

I remember landing on the Bail-Out mat and not moving, sweating cold and feeling hot at the same time, and not wanting to face him out of guilt and shock.

And absolutely wanting to be “disciplined” for losing my focus at such an embarrassing time.

* * *

Today is a day off from Border work, as well as school. It's also the very same things for Yuba. I'd spent all morning psyching myself up. Now it's fifteen minutes away from noon. It's my chance. It has to be today. All I have to do is pick up the phone and call him.

“Yuba, are you busy right now?” His answer makes me shiver and makes me sweat. “I'd like to buy you lunch!”

“Why?”

“To apologize.” There's a good chance he wouldn't indirectly take my money, so I banked on making it an offering of repentance. If I just asked to eat with him, on the other hand, others may end up coming along.

I didn't really lie: I was sorry for turning into such a pain out of “nowhere”, and today I'd resolved to explain to him why.

I waited in the small restaurant for mere minutes, turning my head at every ring of the bell, before he walked in, squared glasses, height, and normal clothes my mind saw as a very nice, open-shirted suit. It's a _bit_ easier when he's not in his Trion body -- when the revolvers and slick-back hair aren't there. But Yuba is still Yuba, and his presence still fills the room. Just like I wish his---

“What'll you have, Obishima?!”

“Oh....” The waiter's standing right there to take our order.

I'd mentally rehearsed my answer (something I wanted to try) and here I blurt something else (that I really don't like that much), to Yuba's raised eyebrow. He doesn't comment on it, though. Out of all the weird things I've been doing in front of him, this is the most minor of all.

When the waiter leaves with a half-full sheet of paper, he leaves me alone on the precipice of Yuba, without a bungee cord or safety net. And yet, much of me isn't feeling shy at all. That part's hoping he'll like this kind of attention from me, and make some use of it for both of us.

He probably wouldn't do that. I don't think he's that kind of guy. But I've known since my desires didn't die down with time that I must bring it up, at least. Even if things stay the way they are, even if he thinks a little less of me, I have to tell _someone_ what I'm feeling, no, how he makes me feel; it's getting so hard to think about much else. And if I say it to anyone but Yuba, I already know what they're going to tell me.

But when I think about telling him in so many words, my mouth tries to swallow my tongue.

Our waiter brings us water while we wait, while I run through excuses, lead-ins to ease into my confession. My mind scrambles a little longer, then falls over itself like a horse, and then it brings me something perfectly vague and indirect, but probably obscure. Still, he may have heard of it.

_I'll pretend I don't know anything about the term._

To be honest, I kind of don't; I only briefly saw it in a book I'd glanced at once, and when I realized what I was reading about I was so startled and embarrassed I shoved it back onto the shelf. But if I remember it right, then back in the samurai days a mentor was expected to teach his charge in all the ways of life -- including....

With still no clue what's going on in my head, Yuba reaches for his water. My daring question and my heart are both flutter-light, not too heavy for speaking like I expected, while I watch his hand open.

“Do you know what ‘nanshoku’ is?”

He missed; his fingertips bump the glass, and cold water runs over the table, almost as if the glass had fainted in shock. I thought putting it that way was roundabout enough because I'm not a guy, but I guess I'm transparent to him after all.

He stands up to catch the water before it reaches the edge, swiftly armed with napkins. I'm sure there's something wrong with me; I feel bad for making him nervous, but not as much as his tension and the motion of his arm is making me heat up.

“...Does that question have any connection with why you've been acting so strange lately?”

“Yes.”

I can't tell if he's angry. His face is stone, and he won't look at me, not yet. A lot of things must've been adding up now.

He plops back into his seat, thumb and pointer lined up with his brows. 

“Obishima, if it's getting under-- if it's that much of a problem, you should have said something sooner.”

“I'm really sorry.”

“Then again, I guess I see how that wouldn't be so easy....”

The food's here in seconds after all that, and we start to eat in silence now that I've said what I had to say. I still don't really know what he's thinking. He might ask me to leave the squad if I really can't handle being close to him, and the sad thing is, that might even be for the best... except our Squad already lost Kanda, and can't afford much more.

Finally he sets down the chopsticks; every cell in my body is paying attention to what he'll say.

“Just... get it out of your system before you come over and see if that helps things.”

That could work. I haven't been “doing anything about it” because I thought it would make things worse, but that probably makes less sense in hindsight. _The problem is,_ since Yuba suggested it, Mt. Fuji is starting to smoke, and -- I can't help it before it comes out of my mouth.

“Is that an order??”

“Fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you probably already noticed, but there's a reference to a newspaper comic in this story.


End file.
